


Clinging to the air

by millygal



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nelson knows more than he's willing to say and lets Sam take a little comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clinging to the air

Sam's eyes are swimming with smoke and stale whiskey fumes, he can barely stand, and he's fairly certain that the world will turn wrong side up if he lifts his head off the bar.

"Gimme 'nother Nelson"

The landlord of the Railways Arms shakes his head and continues polishing the already spotless glass in his hands, "Don't you t'ink you've had enough Sam?"

Sam slams his fist on the bar, sending up a cocktail spray of drink spills, and glares at Nelson, "Drop the stupid accent Nelson, it's just us here! An' if I wanted drinkin' advice I wouldn't bloody well ask you"

Nelson leans down eye level with Sam, grins and tutts, "Don't forget who serves your drinks DI Tyler. Awful things can happen to a pint of mild or a whiskey chaser when you're not looking"

Sam lifts his head from his arms with a measured effort not to throw up a weeks worth of sloppy canteen dinners and offers the grinning man in front of him an apologetic smile.

"M'sorry Nelson, I'm just so fed up with this hell hole. S'tippin' me over the edge"

Nelson fills the glass he's been cleaning for the last ten minutes with a healthy measure of whiskey, and slides it across the bar to Sam.

"The answer's rarely found at the bottom of a bottle Sam. Swimming in alcohol won't get you where you want to be, it'll just remind you that you aren't there"

Sam sips at his drink and considers the truth in Nelsons words, "You know I never used to drink like this. Barely touched a drop, till I got here"

Nelson nods, contemplates the sorry mess in front of him for a second and makes a quick decision.

Lifting the bar hatch, Nelson slides next to Sam, hooks his hands under his arms and pulls him off his stool.

"Don't throw me out, I'd never make it. Gene'd find me in some gutter tomorrow"

Shouldering the paralytic man's weight, Nelson laughs and propels him towards the bar hatch, "I'm not throwing you out Sam. I'm taking you upstairs. Couldn't turf you into the street if I tried, my morals would bug me all night and DCI Hunt would kick me to death in the morning when he found out I'd let his deputy go stumbling off into the night without a care"

Sam snorts and leans heavily against Nelson's chest, "He wouldn't give a shit. Probably buy you a pint for gettin' me out of his hair"

Balancing Sam on the bottom step of the stairs out back, Nelson motions for Sam to stay and goes to lock the front door.

From the front of the bar, muffled by the optics and paper thin walls, Sam hears Nelson muttering to himself.

"Has no idea. silly sod. When are they gonna sort themselves out.."

Everything goes pitch black and Sam panics, pitching himself sideways off of his step, "Argh!"

From his vantage point on the floor, Sam hears footsteps then feels a stronger than he'd have imagined set of fingers checking him over.

"I just turned the lights out Sam, no need to have a fit. Come on, let's get you to bed"

Sam giggles and allows Nelson to wrap an arm round his waist and haul him to his feet, "That an offer Mr Landlord"

Nelson drags him up the stairs to his flat and sighs, "You know what they say Sam, once you go black...."

Pissed as a handcart he may be, but Sam's 2006 sensibilities still kick in and he grimaces at the blatantly racist phrase. Even the compliments in 1973 are politically incorrect.

Finally making it up the back stairs, Nelson pulls Sam round a corner and opens the door to a spacious and surprisingly well decorated living room. Letting him drop onto the sofa, Nelson turns back to the door and locks it before heading to the kitchen and flicking the kettle on, "You need some coffee Sam"

Shaking his head to try and clear away the alcohol fug, Sam rubs his eyes and sighs, "I need something Nelson, not sure it's coffee"

Coming back with two steaming mugs of something that smells more like luxury Brazilian brew, not freeze dried crap from the local shop, Nelson places one at Sam's feet and sips from the other, "Don't kick it over. This carpet's new"

Sam salutes, hits himself in the forehead and winces, "Yes sir"

Sitting next to him, Nelson looks Sam in the eyes and asks the question he's been dying to since Sam first starting drinking in his pub, "What do you need Sam?"

"Nelson, mate, that'd take a lifetime to answer"

Sam's not sure what it is. The curiosity he can see on Nelson's face, maybe the real concern he can see buried under that, but he feels himself unwind enough to answer him honestly, "I need, hell I need lots of things. Firstly I need to get the hell out of here. Go home. See my friends and family and know I'm not a total fruit loop"

Nelson smiles but offers no reply, allowing the silence to spread out like a blanket.

Sam picks his coffee off the floor and takes an experimental sip, "Jesus Nelson, where'd you get this, it's bloody fantastic!"

Nelson chuckles and shakes his head, "A man's allowed his secrets Sam"

Sipping at the steaming black liquid, Sam shrugs and carries on, "What I really need is for Gene bloody Hunt to stop making this place feel like home. That's what I need. The lines are getting blurred Nelson, between real and unreal, my life here, if you can call it a life, and the life I led before"

"Sam, real is all relative. Believe me, I know. And you remember what I told you before. It's only real if it feels real"

Sam slumps back into the cushions and sighs, "That's the problem, it feels far to real and I don't want it to. The last thing I want is to take comfort in this place, or him, or any of them. But my head and the rest of my nervous system don't seem to be able to agree on anything"

Crossing his legs on the sofa, taking up a pose that reminds Sam of those little Rastafarian ashtrays he's seen in gift shops all over 2006, Nelson cradles his mug of coffee and tips his head to one side, "You do know that DCI Hunt's just as flustered about you as you are about him, don't you?"

"Ha! if you mean he's sick of me picking at him and complaining about everything he does. Yeah I do know"

"No Sam, I don't mean your ever present aggravating policing methods. I mean you, he's all turned about by you, just as much as you are by him. Except he's a man of his time, so he's got his own issues to work through"

The emphasis on the word time makes Sam look up and see something, a spark of something buried beneath the surface of Nelson's words.

Shaking his head, ignoring the crackle of static running down his spine, Sam shrugs and closes his eyes, "Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter if he's 'real' and he feels any of the things I feel. Right now my brain is debating two sides of the same argument. Fall into this place fully, take the comfort I need from the person I want it from, or fight, fight like a caged animal to get out and possibly never feel this way again"

Nelson lays a comforting hand on Sam's arm, "That's a decision you have to make, no one else can make it for you"

A frisson of something long subdued cracks across Sam's skin. Placing his mug on the floor, Sam lays his hand atop Nelson's and squeezes.

Nelson tries to pull back, but Sam's grip is pretty firm for a drunkard, "Sam, no. Don't muddy the waters"

"I'm not. Nelson, I just, I need to.. oh god, this place, it's got my insides all twisted up and I just need to feel. Just for a moment. Gotta cling on to something"

Nelson leans close, close enough for his coffee tainted breath to blow tantalizingly across Sam's ear and throat, "I'm not him, and I'm not what you want, or need. I'm just a messenger Sam"

Despite his protests, Nelson's been alone in this place for a very long time. He's long past floundering, but that doesn't mean he doesn't need something to cling to once in a while.

Sam closes the gap between them, turns his head and whispers into Nelson's ear "Just let me clear my head"

Sensing the other man's real and terrible need for something tangible, Nelson nods once.

Sam mouths 'thank you' before claiming Nelson's lips.

Sam's all drunken fumbling and quick jerky movements.

Nelson's not only sober, but he's aware. So very aware of his surroundings, all the time.

Trailing his fingers ever so gently along Sam's jaw line, he grips Sam's face to stay him, "Slowly Sam, no need to rush. If you want to feel, then feel"

Sam sits back, starts unbuttoning his shirt only to have darker and more capable hands replace his.

Nelson makes quick and steady work of his and Sam's shirts, and can't help admiring the wiry strength beneath Sam's tied down exterior. His muscles bunch and twitch beneath Nelson's fingers and despite Nelson knowing this is purely for comfort, he inhales deeply, revelling in Sam's heady scent.

Sam's settled into the other man's touch quite nicely, not a bad fit for two square pegs in round holes.

Pushing Nelson back against the arm of the sofa, Sam laps at a hardened nipple whilst undoing the other man's trousers. Sam gives a sigh of satisfaction when he manages to pop the button and pull down the zip. Sliding his hand inside and grasping at Nelson's length.

Nelson's hips jerk away from the sofa and slam into Sam's. The pained noise from Sam reminds Nelson why exactly he's allowing this to happen and starts divesting Sam of his trousers.

Sam helps as best he can without breaking contact with Nelson's chest or cock. Eventually his trousers are round his ankles and Nelson's hand is firmly but gently sliding the length of him.

Sam's whole existence is, just for a moment, hardwired to the dark, strong, welcome fingers playing havoc with his hormones. Sam let's go of Nelson for a second, just a second. Long enough to hook his thumbs in the waistband of Nelson's trousers and yanks them down far enough to slide their cocks together.

The hisses of appreciation coming from Nelson are enough to spur Sam on. Wrapping his hand around both of them, he thrusts his hips upwards and rakes the rough pad of his thumb across Nelson's seeping tip.

Despite being lost in a haze of lust and barely restrained sexual need, Nelson is fully aware that this is not about two lovers finding release. It's about one man needing to feel strong hands and a hard body, about him desperately wanting some kind of real release in amongst all the craziness and uncertainty of his life.

So, instead of pushing for the usual conclusion, he allows Sam to rock them both to orgasm.

It's a slow building fire beneath a normally stoic exterior. Both men are so used to masking who they really are, either for the greater good of a bunch of drunks or a smaller, yet no less urgent need not to fall down the rabbit hole.

Nelson's hips buck wildly, Sam's sweaty, lithe body slips and slides easily against the taller man's.

There is no preamble here. No coy suggestion of like turning to love. It's simple, unmistakable raw need.

Two souls taking solace in something that for the smallest of moments feels real enough to them.

Nelson cums quickly and loudly, surprising and delighting Sam in ways he didn't know it could. In return Sam falls off the edge of his own personal universe quietly, but no less aggressively.

Finally, able to breath, able to see beyond the want and the waking terror that is his life inside this maelstrom, Sam looks up to see what damage he's caused to his friendship.

He's greeted by a sated, calm smile.

"Feel better?"

Sam laughs and untangles himself from within Nelson's arms, "Not really, not the way I need to"

Not remotely embarrassed by his nakedness and the now sticky mess spread about his stomach, Nelson shakes his head and tisks, "Then, my friend, you need to pick a third option"

Standing to pull up his trousers, Sam raises an eyebrow in question.

"Stop pretending this place isn't where you want to be, stop acting as if the relationships you've been building aren't important. Because at the end of the day Sam, we're all made of up tiny little pieces that make a perfect puzzle"

"What, you mean a web of fate? Isn't that a bit far fetched?"

"No more far fetched than a man out of his time trying to find a foot hold in a world that welcomed him even after he did everything but beat down the walls and set light to the shards to prove he didn't need it"

Sam sits, leans his chin in his cupped hand and stares at Nelson for the longest time before attempting to express a wordless feeling from deep down inside, "If I keep pulling at the threads, will my tapestry unravel?"

"That's not for me to say Sam. All I see is you, arguing with everything and everyone around you, destroying what ever you touch, despite the universe obviously thinking you need to be here for something. Gene isn't as simple as you think. He feels, he wants, he needs. Did you ever think he's thinking and feeling the self same things as you, but you're just too stubborn to let him show you?"

Sam's still not convinced, not by a long shot, but, well maybe he's been too quick to judge this little pocket of time and space. The pull to stay, to fit in, to impress, it's all so powerful that he'd railed against it automatically.

Maybe it's time he stopped fighting against and started fighting for.

Starting with the man who's made it impossible not believe just a tiny little bit....


End file.
